Perspective
by ataraxyy
Summary: - Nico, Rachel - In which Rachel gives Nico art lessons, or at the very least attempts to do so. .:  There's no red, no green, no blue; no purple, no yellow or no orange:.


**Characters**: Rachel, Nico**  
>Summary<strong>: There's no red, no green, no blue; no purple, no yellow, no orange.**  
>Pairings<strong>: More of a friendship drabble.**  
>WarningsSpoilers**: none **  
>Timeline<strong>: Obviosuly after they meet. I'd imagine them to be a little older than their ages in the book though**  
>Disclaimer<strong>: I don't own Percy Jackson and the Olympians  
><strong>AN: **HELLO! I am alive. Very sorry for the delay in posting _anything_. I defiantly wanted to re-read this and redo it it so it sounds better but for the most part - I really can't be bothered. Unless I get a lot of hate mail.

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><p><em><strong>Perspective:<strong>_

Rachel decides that for the sake of his social life, which is currently non-existent, and because of his lack of enthusiasm towards anything remotely classified as _social_, that she herself will give Nico lessons.

Art lessons.

It takes her a while for him to warm to the idea. Actually, she doesn't think he's even fully agreed to it yet. The first time she asks about his attendance he gives her a look and goes back to sleep on her couch, _seriously, if he's allowed in my house he can at least come to one measly session?_ When that had failed she pretended that he had accepted anyway and reminded him to come at the designated time.

"Remember, Tuesday at 6:00, sharp."

No, he hasn't agreed, she admits, but he's turning up at the right times so she's going to say that he has. As long as she keeps it a secret. Or something like that.

She provides bushes and colours and pastels and paper. Nico picks up a brush, _the wrong brush, _Rachel notes, and sits down on the floor to watch her paint her own artwork. He's content to listen to her blabbering on about how to start an artwork, different techniques, where she learnt to paint, what music she listens to - soon she's just gushing out whatever she thinks of - Nico just sits and listens and nods and agrees when he thinks necessary. When asked with a spot question about what she had just said; he repeats her exact words without hesitation.

She decides that he's a good listener, at the very least.

When she's done, _slower than usual, maybe it's just good company? _she provides a new canvas for him and a new one for herself and leaves the colours and brushes between them. It's silent when they, _well _I _am at least, _get started so she starts humming and hopes Nico doesnt mind.

He doesnt complain so she guesses that that's fine too.

A little while later, she looks over to her right.

-and, to her surprise, Nico's not that bad of an artist. She peeps over his shoulder and smiles when he sees the canvas covered with his careful brushstrokes. _Turns out he was using the right brush after all. _Rachel has experience and notices the beauty in his artwork.

Although, casual observer would notice something about Nico's artwork immediately.

There is no colour.

All of Nico's works are done in black and white. The drawings are not filled in; the paintings are all black strokes on a canvas, touched with gray. No red, no green, no blue; no purple, no yellow, no orange.

They're all colourless. Colourless, stark, and unapproachable. Just like Nico.

She sighs lightly and hopes Nico doesn't hear - The way his shoulders tense tell her a different story.

He's got some way to go. But she's done a pretty decent job anyway.

_Maybe I could be a_ _teacher, _she muses going back to her own canvas, mixing some more color onto her palette and dipping her brush into the colour that Nico lacks.

A room full of bratty children hardly seems her style though.

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><p>When he hears Rachel sigh he snaps out of his thoughts and re-focuses on his own work.<p>

_No colour, _he notes, _that's why she's sighing, damn woman. _He's no ides how he managed to get dragged into this, but she seems happy, so he'll let it slide.

Nico chances a glance at her work. She's humming a bright tune whilst flicking her wrist across the paper. There's so much colour on her canvas, Nico can't say he doesn't particularly like the whole vibrancy of her own art, it's just, _different._

He turns back to view his own.

Naturally, Nico sees his art in a very different light.

The varying shades of black and gray hit all points of light and shadow, and the faces and forms are fully defined and fleshed-out.

Others see a flower with no color, a lifeless lily.

Nico sees the full spectrum in his work. An entirely different spectrum, but every bit as real.


End file.
